Important People
by Stormy Grey Skies
Summary: Nathan Petrelli was an Important Person who's very good at being prepared. Senators need to be prepared, and Nathan was a great senator, if not a good one. But he was not prepared for what he saw next...Skin to skin, Nathan Petrelli sleeps. Tomorrow he'll go back to being an Important Person. Tonight, he's just his brother's lover. Oneshot, AU, slash, Petrellicest. Language.


Nathan Petrelli was an Important Person. As an Important Person, he had plenty of things bouncing and zooming around his well-coifed head. Many more Important Things than noticing a door set slightly ajar. The telltale dim lighting spilling a milky line across the hardwood barely even registered as he pushed the solid wood inwards. Now, Nathan is a very prepared person. It comes with being a control _enthusiast, _and has many a time bolstered him up in the polls after some _unexpected _turn of events. Senators need to be prepared, and Nathan was a great senator, if not a good one.

But he was not prepared for what he saw next.

His jaw fell slack, and his jumbled Important thoughts began to ring silence as all the blood in his head rushed downwards towards his…ahem, _other _head.

Brain deprived of much-needed oxygen, it took him much too long to process the mess of rumpled sheets, inky-soft hair, and naked boy than it should have. His eyes travelled across smooth touchable skin stretched over erotic lines of lithe muscle. The sheet fell diagonally across the perfect curve of ass on a precious body, and trapped his eyes with thoughts of what was underneath. He choked down fish-gulps of air in an effort to jumpstart semi-coherency. All he heard was static.

Almost blindly, he stepped a slow foot into the room. One step, two steps, three – the deliciously tempting form on his bed stirred slightly. He froze. Dropped his coat on the plush carpeted floor.

Panicked. Beat a hasty retreat.

He was halfway down the hall before he regained enough of his mental faculties to kick himself in the teeth. Metaphorically, of course. Every politician needs great teeth.

_Wait…how did Peter even get _in _there?_

He was fairly certain he'd locked his bedroom door this morning.

_Oh, wait – Peter's an all-powerful superman._

Then, of course, the big question –

_Why is my baby brother taking a naked nap in my bed?..._

_And _**why** _am I not taking advantage of it?_

The last part made him swallow his breath so hard he could feel the air bubble travel down his esophagus. God, he was being so unlike himself. He felt more like a jittery, panicked bunny rabbit than Nathan Petrelli – Important Person extraordinaire.

Gut instinct and second nature had him throwing his politican's mask back on. He straightened his suit and turned on his heel.

Bolstered with confidence he didn't really feel, he strutted back up the hall and threw the door open with a banging flourish. He stood there, with arm still outstretched, as the delicious figure in his bed stirred lazily awake.

Peter rolled back over his own rear as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes and was treated to the sizzling hot view of Nathan in his perfectly-cut suit standing dark in the doorway with want burning in his eyes.

"Hey, buddy…" he greeted, voice gravelly from fatigue and desire. He let himself thoroughly eye-fuck his brother before meeting the good senator's eyes with a seductive smirk.

"Here t'join me…?"

Nathan didn't say a word. Peter watched passively as his blood _prowled _towards him, only to stop at the last minute and stand impassively at the side of the bed. The older Petrelli leaned stonily forwards, and watched his baby brother automatically begin to rise upwards to seek him. Again, he delayed contact and this time stalked around to the other side.

Peter watched him with dark, unreadable eyes as the older man simply stood there like a statue, watching over him. He rolled onto his back from his position propped up on his elbows, the sheet slipping dangerously low, and rested his turned head on his right hand, letting his left fall naturally over his chest. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but he refused to break the electric line of eye contact buzzing between them.

Three tense seconds ticked by, and when Peter saw Nathan begin to lean back, he knew he had to do something to break his brother's careful restraint. He swallowed, licked his lips, and slowly began moving the hand resting on his chest downwards, in what he hoped was a seductive motion.

Nathan paused. His heartbeat sounded deafening in his own ears, and he watched as that hand fell lower…and lower…and lower…

Baby Petrelli knew the exact moment that Nate's tense hold on himself broke. A muscle jumped up and down in a strong square jaw, and one moment the politician was standing there, like a stone gargoyle, the next there was a comforting weight pressing him into the mattress, and a familiar fraternal scent mixed with subtle cologne filling his nose. Hot lips met his in a burning, branding mess of mouth, and teeth, and tongue. Hands were wandering all over, oh, those _hands_…and the sheet was falling away, and he was mindlessly undoing the trail of buttons on that pressed white shirt, flinging it whoever-the-fuck-cares.

The full, heavy length of Nathan's desire suddenly lay cradled in his right hand, and he started pumping without a thought, hearing moans and hushed curses spill out of the wet mouth next to his ear, feeling scalding breaths pant out against his skin. And he was searching for friction against his brother's partially undone dress pants, and the room was full of lustful noises clashing and intertwining together, and he had wanted this for _so long_…

Somehow, one of Nathan's digits was inside him, slick-coated with somebody's spit, and it felt _good, _it felt _so damn good_. And he'd only ever had one other person _down there_, but he'd never been prepared so thoroughly, so painstakingly carefully, before – Nathan was treating him as if he were something precious, and God, he was about to come way too early from just _one finger_.

Another joined in and he was lost, moaning like some wanton whore, hand wrapped around the base of his own dick, because he wanted this to _last, and last, and last_. He wanted his big brother's touch to brand itself into his soul so he could have it – this _wonderfulness – _forever, carry it with him for as long as he walked this earth, and fuck, he could feel the hot throbbing mass of him pressing in, and….

_Oh!_

He was so _full_ it almost forced tears into his eyes, and he realized with a shock that finally, his brother was where he belonged. Realized that they were connected – _really, honestly, physically_. And the feeling was so visceral in that moment that he let two twin tears streak parallel lines across his face.

But he was _smiling, _beaming so goddamn brilliantly that Nathan couldn't help but move inside of him. And God, Pete was so fucking _warm_, and _tight_, and _soft_, and he couldn't believe that he'd lived until now without _this. This….this_ was the kind of thing people talked about when they spoke about finding their faith.

It felt like rebirth and revelation after revelation all at once, and he was pretty sure God wouldn't approve of this, but he thanks Him anyway – the first semblance-of-a-prayer he'd made of his own free will since…he doesn't even remember when. But the sight of Peter's luminescent skin glowing in his bed – pale skin dazzled in hot sweat and precious body arch-twisting in pleasure – like an angel beneath him, has him calling out to the heavens. And he knows it's not _right, _this thing that feels suspiciously like baby-I-love-you-love, roiling just under the surface of his skin, but he blindly follows it anyways.

And his eyes are forced open by the divine picture in front of him, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, but he could swear he's been blinded. He doesn't see his brother writhing in his sheets as much as feel it – experience every nuance of his face and the smooth ripple of muscle under skin. It's blurred the lines between vision and feeling, and he doesn't think it's normal, but he loves it all the same.

Pants of shared breath push moist warmth onto skin, and broken moans sound wrecked in the silence of the room. He's thrusting uncontrollably as his name is whispered a thousand times in his ear in a chant that has him seeking deeper and just searching for _more._

It blindsides him, and suddenly Peter's screaming epithets mixed with slews of curses and his name arcing above all, and suddenly everything's getting impossibly _tighter _and _more,_ and suddenly he's shattering into a million pieces – scattered everywhere, covering the floor and imbedded in the walls of his consciousness.

He wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him close and tight to his body, stealing warmth to hide the empty cold in his soul. Something wretched is clawing at the pit of his stomach, and he swallows the sick bile in his throat.

Somehow, it all seems to disappear, though when Peter hums and snuggles just a little bit closer into his embrace.

Skin pressed flush to skin, Nathan Petrelli sleeps. Tomorrow he'll go back to being an Important Person.

But tonight…tonight he's just his brother's lover.


End file.
